_Cas._ Farewell----I hope for ever.-- Now, Cleomenes, I will sound thy soul, For life and death depend upon thy choice; But for that easy wretch, him I comtemn. Hard state of lovers, subject to our laws! Fools we must have, or else we cannot sway; For none but fools will womankind obey. If they prove stubborn, and resist our will, We exercise our power, and use them ill. The passive slave, that whines, adores, and dies, Sometimes we pity, but we still despise: But when we doat, the self-same fate we prove, Fools at the best, but double fools in love. We rage at first with ill-dissembled scorn; Then, falling from our height, more basely mourn; And man, the insulting tyrant, takes his turn, Leaves us to weep for our neglected charms, And hugs another mistress in his arms; And, that which humbles our proud sex the most, Of all our slighted favours makes his boast. [_Exit_ CASSANDRA. _Enter_ CLEOMENES. _Cleom._ Her words, her every look, confess she loves me; And therefore she detains these hostages, As pawns of my return to her and Egypt. Thus far 'tis plain and obvious:--But the picture; That Helen: There's the riddle of her love. For, what I see, or only think I see, Is like a glimpse of moonshine, streaked with red,-- A shuffled, sullen, and uncertain light, That dances through the clouds, and shuts again: Then 'ware a rising tempest on the main. _Enter_ CASSANDRA. _Cas._ I would, but cannot speak. The shame that should to womankind belong, Flown from my bosom, hovers on my tongue. [_Aside._ _Cleom._ 'Tis rarely seen, that gods from heaven descend, But for some kind, some charitable end. And yet your troubled looks ill news import, Stops, or delays; but that's no news at court: There's somewhat which your pity would disguise. _Cas._ Would you could read that somewhat in my eyes! But, as you are a Spartan and a king, Undaunted hear whatever news I bring. The favourite hates you; Cœnus has betrayed The bitter truths, that our loose court upbraid. Your friend was set upon you for a spy, And on his witness you are doomed to die. _Cleom._ I have been plunged already twice in woes, And the third time above the waves I rose. Still I have strength to steer me into port, And shun the secret quick-sands of the court. But when my friend, who should expecting stand On the bare beach, to lend his helping hand; When he defends the unhospitable shore, And drives me thence, I sink for evermore. But 'tis impossible, his faith is tried; The man, who had defamed him thus, had lied.